The Edge
by SilverArtemisKO
Summary: Spencer has been through a lot, too much. And as he takes one hit after another, I can feel him pulling away, turning back, getting lost in the darkness. I can't let it happen. I am Jennifer Jareau, and I will pull him back from the edge. But how far out can I go to find him before I end up losing myself instead? A story of love, taking chances and hard choices.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this is 4 in the morning so I'll give you the short version.**

 **\- I ship Reid and JJ**

 **\- I don't like how the show keeps pushing Reid in the worst situations and then brushing it off as if there will be such limited lingering effect on him of any of that trauma. In this story, JJ helps Reid through it all. And falls for him in the process.**

 **\- This will be set during season 14**

 **\- This scene is basically an introduction to set up the premise, set in the jet when they're going to save Reid (14X01)**

 **\- Romance will develop. But be warned for slow burn. Character authenticity is my first priority.**

 **\- I hope to update at least weekly. Can't tell how many chapter yet.**

 **Hope you all enjoy.**

 **Disclaimers: Characters are not mine**

 **Update: 2 days later- I just reread the first chapter and thought there were some points I didn't get across very well, so I rewrote parts of it. Next chapter coming soon, hopefully**. **And love you for the favs, follows and reviews**!

* * *

Emily is giving me that look again.

I am in the process of very carefully directing my mind towards a kind of detached blankness, letting every rushing thought flow through without providing a hold for any of them to latch onto. It's a technique I developed to cope with… with times like this, but it takes hard work to get to that state. And Emily distracts me.

We are in our jet as it flies through the fading night. The air inside is taut with tension, no one is talking. Rossi leans back with his eyes closed, so does Luke. Simmons is looking at something on his tablet. Lewis sits beside him, stealing a glance at the screen out of the corner of her eye. And Emily, Emily looks at me with that face, that I'm-concerned-about-JJ-God-I-hope-she-holds-it-together-okay face. And I love Emily but right now it makes me want to scream.

I take a deep breath instead. And Emily doesn't look at me like that for more than a couple of seconds anyway. She turns away, looking out the window at the deep purple nothing sky.

I know what she was thinking. My blank-mind trick collapses like a card house and I am undefended, flashing back to our conversation in the washroom earlier. I am the calm, quiet, grounded kind, usually. I can keep it together, usually. But in that moment it was suddenly all too much, all too soon, and I had to talk about him.

I had to talk about Spencer.

So I grabbed on the first memory my mind offered up and started babbling to Emily. Heard the story of our first and only non-date falling from my own mouth; the one all the guys in our team had ushered him to, giving him ideas, tips, even the game tickets and God knows what else. And I had been clueless enough to have taken Penelope.

I watched Emily's face as I said all this to her, her eyes down in secondhand embarrassment before coming up to meet mine, finding the idea of Reid and I on a date unthinkable. I heard her talking about how that day had created something even more wonderful and how the three of us have been inseparable ever since. But no, I wanted to say, no, no. That was not it. That was not the story. That was not why I was standing there in the washroom, my eyes wet, palms curled, talking about a decade-old memory. No.

I love Penelope. She is one of the few people on this earth who are given the exceptional gift of always finding the light even in a vast sea of seething, twisted darkness. She is one of my closest friends. But that Redskins game, that night, that was not when we became friends. That was not when we bonded. It came later, over late nights at office, days of me standing behind her chair in her tiny room, watching her do her magic on a screen, her fingers flying over keyboard, mind flying even faster; over shopping trips and girls' nights out. Over me saving her life with a single gunshot.

But that Redskins game, that night I looked at Spencer.

Spencer, the scrawny boy in a sweater vest with a satchel, with a mind burning too-bright. I was in awe of his intelligence like everyone else. I thought he was a nice person. That summed up my idea of him. I was used to seeing a data-spouting, problem-solving, wonder genius. I was used to seeing a man who was very obviously but obliviously exceptional- comfortable in all his quirks and differences; reciting facts and making lightning fast connections while looking at you clear-eyed, even expectant; frowning if you were confused as if _you_ puzzled _him_ ; uncomprehending or easily dismissive of your jokes and teases.

But that night I saw beneath that. And beneath that self-assured almost-cocky capability was a cloud of confusion and hurt.

There's something I left out while telling the story to Emily, and that is- Spencer never stayed for the game. He only had two tickets, you see. VIP Box. Present from Gideon. Spence doesn't watch sports; he had no idea about the teams or anything else. He was only there because I was a fan, and he wanted to spend time with me. When he saw I had Penelope with me, he just gave the tickets to us and left.

I say it easily, but it was awkward. Penelope being the woman she is, got all flustered and embarrassed when the situation became clear and wanted to leave immediately, ensuring us over and over it was okay. And, I, I watched Spencer- nodding but barely listening, lips tight, eyes determinedly not on my face, softly saying 'No, it is all right. Really.'

And what I realized is this: if any other man of his age and acquaintance had told me 'Let's go to your favorite team's game that I got us tickets for', I would at the very least have wondered if this meant a date. But in Spencer's case, it had not even crossed my mind. I had not been able to factor human attraction and feelings into the geeky boy-wonder super-smart entity.

This was not lost on him. And it made him shrink, it hurt him, it made him feel, probably not for the first time, that having superhuman-level intelligence could push you so far apart from the rest that suddenly you're less than human, not emotions and feelings but only facts and efficiency.

So in the middle of Penelope saying yet another sentence starting with, 'God, so sorry-', when he shoved the tickets in my hand, turned around and walked away, even if I knew this was a misunderstanding and I could not be faulted for this, I felt bad. Worse, I felt guilty.

And I vowed to fix it.

So I apologized. And then I made a point of making friends with him. At first he was still embarrassed, still shy. But I think he was also grateful.

So much has changed since then. And I only chose to talk about this memory because it was the first thing that came to my mind. It was our start, yes. But our story is not at the start. It is in every place in between then and now. Spencer is my best friend, a part of me. No, more than that- you know when you have someone who is just your… person? It's whom you think of discussing with first when you're fighting with your partner; it's whom you can call at 3 in the morning and know that they're going to be there for you, it's who knows your voice as well as your silence, it's who knows when to tease and when to treat you, when to push and when to stop.

Spencer is my person.

And it seems like I keep losing him. The first time was the Tobias Hankle nightmare- we split up and I lost him. I remember that feeling- sitting there with the team, seeing him drugged, knowing that he was ripped away from me and I could do nothing. And it seems like I keep reliving that. Reid shot. Reid taken and his girlfriend killed in front of him. Reid in prison. And now, Reid abducted by a cult. Again and again, things piling up, and in the washroom earlier, standing there, I _had to_ talk about him, anything about him, because every time he's gone all I can think is- is this the time our luck runs out and I lose him forever? I had to talk about him because doing it made me feel like he was closer, alive, in the middle of us- even if only in memories, but still real, still there.

And all this on top of an already-growing concern…

I know trauma. I was bombed by terrorists. Tortured by professionals. I lost a sister. I lost a child. I buried friends. I know how this works. You don't get over it. You just learn to live with it. It takes time. It takes hard work. And more than that, it takes support.

I had my family- my husband, sons. I had my BAU family. I also saw a therapist. And I still wake up screaming in the middle of the night sometimes.

But Spencer… I don't see what he has. His relationship with his father is limited to Christmas cards. His mother keeps getting worse. My tentative question asking if he was seeing any therapist was answered with a clipped 'No.' And he doesn't talk to us, to me.

I still don't know what happened in that prison, what he faced when he was there. I don't know if his mind has been affected in any way from the whole experience. I don't know how he feels about teaching. He doesn't want to say. He doesn't talk, not about any of this. It makes me feel angry, and hurt.

And above all, I feel dread. I feel him pulling away. I remember him emotional when I went to see him at that prison, I remember him shaking as we stood holding each other when I went to get him out, his breath coming fast as if he'd run a race. I remember him talking about his horrifying experiences in the past, letting me in, trusting me as I tried to help. But lately he has been unwilling to do that, acting too cool, shutting himself out to some faraway space in his mind when I try to bring these subjects up.

He's hasn't rejoined fully yet, so he's spending time alone now more than ever. He has no friendly neighbors, no other friend in the city. He has even stopped coming to my place.

What if he's struggling, sinking, drowning on his own?

Would I know if he doesn't let me?

Would I realize if after one hit after another he learns to hide his wounds a little too well?

Yesterday, it hurt when I asked for his reassurance that I didn't have to worry about him and he wouldn't even look at me. But by last night, I felt a lot better. I felt I was making progress, he was putting the new walls down, letting me reach in. His hug felt so good, and only him pinning my arms to my side kept me from hugging him back as fiercely as I wanted to.

And then, this.

He's taken. He's about to be sacrificed, his throat cut and hyoid bone removed, and every second we're not there is another second closer he is to his death.

Emily thinks I'm sad. To be honest? I'm angry.

This is too much, too soon. His parents are as good as gone. He has lost the woman he had loved. He has been drugged. Framed. Jailed . Tortured. Isn't it enough?

How much more can a mind take before it shatters?

How much longer before he snaps or sinks so deep into himself he's not here anymore?

And he's not even letting me help.

It is not right. It is not fair. It fills me with frustration, desperation and fury.

So I promise to myself, right here and right now, that I am going to save him.

Save him from the cult, yes. But also save him from himself.

He can fool the world, he can even fool himself, but he can't fool me. He can't go on pretending that he is fine and unaffected and okay and all's gonna be all right.

Time heals wounds, but it also kills. You don't walk every path alone. I cannot lose him. I cannot let him go.

So I grit my teeth and vow to save him instead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:**

 **-Thanks for the follows, favs and feedback, love you guys for those.**

 **-If you read chapter 1 within the first 48 hours of its publication, would you mind checking it out again? I rewrote parts of it.**

 **\- Next chapter within next 2/3 days.**

 **Disclaimers: Characters are not mine.**

* * *

'Jennifer. Hi.'

A groggy, sleep-drunk voice has answered the phone.

'Hey. Did I wake you up?'

'Yes, actually… what time is it?'

I look over at the digital clock sitting on the kitchen counter, in a pool of gathering darkness as long late-afternoon shadows creep into my home. It says 16:53 in glowing red numbers.

'It's almost 5.'

'In the afternoon, right?'

I laugh, pulling my legs in and tucking them under me, snuggling in the L-corner of the couch comfortably. 'Yes, in the afternoon, Spence. What did you think?'

'I don't know…', I hear soft shuffling noises- fabric on fabric; a subtle change in the rhythm of his breathing. I imagine him sitting up, leaning back against stacked pillows. I imagine him running his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes, making it even messier.

'It could be 5 a.m. next morning. I didn't set any alarm before going to sleep.'

'When was that?'

'I don't know, really. I'd lied down with a book. Must have drifted off.'

I shake my head. Trust this guy to be abducted, nearly killed and rescued within the space of two days and then immediately start reading a book afterwards.

It is the next day... technically it is the same day. We arrived back in DC at the crack of dawn after making the arrests and tying everything up with local PD. The previous few hours had been hectic and harrowing enough to have everyone's nerves pretty much frayed and we were having a slow week at the office paperwork-wise, so Emily gave us the day off- provided no new case came in. So far we've been lucky.

'I'm sorry I woke you up.', I tell him. 'I'd figured you'd immediately crash after you went home, and would be all slept in by now.' That's more or less what I've done, anyway.

He is quiet for a moment. Then he says, 'Yeah, I tried that.'

I frown. 'And?'

'And I couldn't get to the mental state necessary to feel or attempt to feel rested. Even the sleep I had was probably only up to stage 2 non-REM and some REM…' his voice shifts a little at the end as he goes from a dialogue to a distracted self-diagnosing side monologue.

I have no idea what 'REM' is supposed to mean, but in normal-people speak, what he's said means 'I was too restless to fall asleep right away, and didn't sleep too well either'.

'Why are you calling, JJ?', Spencer sounds more awake now, and a note of urgent concern enters his voice. 'Has something come up?'

'Oh, no.', I assure him. 'Nothing like that. I just wanted to talk.'

A heartbeat pause. Then, 'You're checking up on me, aren't you?'

Of course he figures it out.

Coming back from Kentucky, in the jet, we didn't talk. I felt that he needed some time to himself after all that, and truth is, I did too. Fatigue was setting in as I came off the adrenaline high, and the relief of simply seeing him alive and okay was enough for then. So I squeezed his hand, looking into his eyes to let him know that I was there if he needed me, then I left him alone. That's all I had any emotional energy for.

But now I'm better, and rested, and need to make sure he's okay.

And, and there is something else. A stupid, irrational something.

I needed to hear his voice. To remind myself that he is there, to reassure myself that he can be reached with one tap on the screen of my phone, to realize and rejoice the fact that he is very much not dead, lost or gone.

I know it doesn't really make any sense. But I have learned to put trust in my primary feelings and instincts a long time ago. If it's not harmful, I don't need to worry about it being stupid.

Spencer is waiting for my answer, even though he already knows it.

'Would that upset you?', I ask instead.

'No', he says. But I hear just a fraction of hesitation before he utters the word. And I feel a pang of irritation.

Spencer, when he thought Emily was dead, came to my place for three months desperately trying to make sense of the grief and pain, weeping until it had wrung him dry. Spencer, sitting on the other side of freedom, from behind a glass barrier, cried when he saw a crayon picture of him with my sons. Spencer, when I left the BAU for a year, was crushed, and I heard from him regularly (until I had to go out to Afghanistan, that is.) He has always appreciated having me look out for him, loved me being concerned for him, wanted me by his side. Hell, he has pulled me in a hug to say thank you for exactly that less than two days ago. This sudden withdrawal that I sense confuses me, wrong-foots me. I don't understand it .I think I could understand if I saw that he was struggling but preferred to deal with it himself, like he did after Maeve was killed. But this efficient detachment- it is unnerving.

I force down the unsettling feeling. 'Then that is what I am doing. Are you okay, Spence?'

'Yes.', he replies. Fast, hard. 'I'm all right.' He pauses for a moment. Then asks, 'How is everyone? Will isn't home yet, is he?'

Not that my husband and Spencer doesn't get smoothly along and not that he doesn't ask after him whenever we talk on the phone, but this feels too much like a deliberate subject change.

I don't address it.

'No, he doesn't get off until later.'

'How are Henry and Michael? God, I haven't seen them in a while...', he stops talking. I understand why. He has walked into his own trap.

'And whose fault is that?', I say, keeping the tone light.

'I am sorry, Jennifer.', and he sounds it, too. 'I've been busy with some things lately and...'

'And also just plain unwilling to come over.'

'That's not true!'

'Really? Spence, last week when I asked you 'Are you coming over this weekend?' your quote unquote answer was- 'Did you see Garcia has a unicorn toy on her desk today? It's the fourth unicorn-themed item that she has in her room now.' And then you walked away.'

Spencer is quiet. I say softly, 'What is it? Why are you...', I want to say 'Why are you pushing me away?' but it seems too big, a wild leap, melodramatic and strange. So I end up saying 'Why are you trying to avoid coming here?'

I hear him breathing. A moment. Two. Three. I realize I don't know what I want his answer to be like.

He doesn't give one. Instead he says, 'Can I come meet your boys next weekend? And Will too?'

I am surprised at just how glad I am to hear this. 'Of course!', I say, smiling. 'Henry and Michael miss you. They're going to be really happy when I tell them.' It's true. Spencer is wonderful with kids and my boys love him to pieces.

'Okay, then. And JJ…', he trails off.

'Yes?', I prompt.

'You know I love you, right?'

Whatever I was expecting him to say, it was not this. Of course he loves me and of course I know it, but why he has decided this needs to be a throwaway out-loud statement in a random conversation is beyond me.

It takes me a second to recover from my surprise. 'Of course I know, Spence. I...'

I was going to say that I love him too, but he cuts me off.

'I think I'm getting another call. Okay if we talk later?'

'Oh, sure!', I say, startled out of my barely-formed sentence.

He says goodbye and then it's only silence.

I put the phone away. And sit quietly, thinking.

Before the whole Reid-going-to-prison nightmare thing happened, I had a premonition. It started as a nagging uncomfortable feeling that wouldn't go away. I talked to Rossi about it, he told me to focus on real problems rather than imaginary ones. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, or would be wrong soon. As it turned out, that was the truth.

Right now, I have no evidence that Spencer is not all right. He is as sharp as ever, he talks, he laughs, there is no sign of visible instability. But my gut is telling me something else.

When I was in middle school, one of my friends had myopia and got glasses for the first time. I tried them on and looked at the world through them. Everything was as it is… almost. The floor was just a little bit tilted, the walls a little bit angled, everything a little bit off center. I felt it more than I saw it; all the tiny, irregular details summing up to a disorienting sense of wrongness.

This is how it feels like with Spencer now. Everything is all right… almost. But something somewhere has changed. I have to figure out what it is.

* * *

Will comes home late- apparently their department at the MPDC is working on a messy case now. Since the evening, I have talked to Penelope and Emily on the phone, played with my sons, cooked dinner. By the time Will sits down at the kitchen counter to eat, both boys are asleep.

Will smiles as he tastes the chicken enchilada. 'Killin' it both out in the field and in the kitchen, honey. You do me proud.'

I'm sitting on a stool beside him, and I give him a smile. 'Well', I say with an exaggerated toss of my hair, 'I can't help it. I'm perfect.'

He snakes his left arm around my waist as he continues to eat with his right. 'You are, though.' He says in between bites.

I laugh. 'Right. How was your day?'

He tells me. As I listen, I feel myself relaxing. I have been home the whole day and got a lot of rest, but traces of unnamed tensions have clung to my nerves, and I only realize that now as I feel them leaving. Soft clinks of fork and knife against ceramic, the kitchen bathed in a warm yellow light, the whole apartment quiet except for Will's voice, the familiar texture and drawling patterns of it, his touch, the warmth coming off him. I feel calm, I feel lucky and thankful. Home. Family. Love. What don't I have?

Afterwards, in bed, Will pulls me close. Presses his face to mine and inhales. Kisses me softly. Then goes to sleep holding me, my back to his chest, us fitting like perfect pieces. But I slept too much in the day, and lie awake now for a long time. My thoughts wander, touching any and every place, and when they land on Spencer I think of him lying alone in his bed now, now and every night and always before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:**

 **-More feedback= More enthusiasm to update.**

 **-If you're reading, I love you.**

* * *

They are everywhere.

A pink giraffe. A yellow horse. A white monkey. Several dogs in multiple colors. A train, cycles and motorcycles. They cover the top of Henry's desk, litter his bed, roll around on the floor. My sons sit on the bed, surrounded by them; watching half-awed, half-delighted as the man making them shows how, twisting and turning balloons with deft hands, creating little animals and vehicles one after another.

Spencer is now making a purple something. 'See here', he tells Henry and Michael, 'You bend it in this place, okay, right here, and press down at the bend with your thumb and index finger- yes, like that! Now…' My sons each hold a balloon, trying their best to copy what he is doing with his own.

Spencer was supposed to come over about three weeks ago, but during two weekends we ended up with cases and had to work, and over the other one Spencer flew to Las Vegas. Today is finally when he could make it. I was doing laundry down in the basement when he arrived, Will let him in. I have just come up, followed the voices and Michael's delighted squeals, and discovered the balloon-animal invasion in Henry's room.

Spencer looks up. 'Hi, JJ! Sorry I'm making a mess here. I'll clean everything up before I leave, I promise!'

'Hi.' I say, 'Don't worry about it.' I enter and sit on the corner of the bed, pushing two green bunnies out of the way. 'I see things are going well.'

'Mommy, Elephant!', Michael flails his twisted purple balloon tube that's still far from an elephant. Henry smiles at me, then focuses on his balloon again, trying to get it just right- ever the serious student.

'That's amazing!' I reach out and mess up Michael's hair. 'Since when do you make balloon animals?', I ask Spencer. I've never seen him do it before.

'Oh', he slashes his hand through the air vaguely. 'I do many things. Did you know, for example, that I speak Swahili, play bagpipes and also moonlight as a mime sometimes?'

I stare at him. 'You're kidding, right?'

He raises his eyebrows. 'Am I?'

Honestly, I am not sure. If this was anyone else, I'd call bullshit. But with Dr. Reid, unpredictable abilities are one predictable trait.

Spencer sees my face and flashes me a grin. 'Yes, Jennifer, I am indeed joking. Though I wouldn't mind learning to do any of those things.'

'Of course you wouldn't.' I shake my head. 'Well, I'm just glad that you're expanding your attempts at humor beyond the quantum physics knock-knock joke kinds.'

'You still aren't laughing, though.' He says, looking at me until I actually do.

He smiles seeing that, then turns his attention to Michael, who was getting impatient with all the talking cutting down on his fun time. I stand up, and quietly watch them for a few moments. Spencer taking hold of Michael's hand to guide his fingers through the movements of shaping the elephant, Henry watching closely as he makes his own, twin golden heads of my sons, Spencer's dark brown hair a burst of honey-gold in the sunlight streaming through the window.

'You're staying for lunch, right?', I ask Spencer.

'Oh, no.', he gives me a brief apologetic smile before returning to his now almost–complete elephant. 'I'm attending a public lecture on laser density on 12:30, I don't want to be late.'

'Oh. Okay.', I start walking to the door, 'Don't drown yourselves in squeaky beasts, boys.'

I hear Henry start to say something before walking out of the room. I don't quite catch it, but it sounds like he's asking Spencer if dogs and bunnies are beasts.

I set the laundry basket down before going into Henry's room, now I pick it up and put in its corner in the hallway. I haven't seen Will yet. He has brought some paperwork over from office to finish over the weekend, most likely he's doing those in our bedroom. Probably glad that Spence has got the kids off his hands this morning. I start towards the bedroom, but before I take the step for some reason I look back into Henry's room over my shoulder. And I see something.

The scene is almost exactly the same as I left it- balloon toys everywhere, my boys trying to make them, Spencer sitting with them. The same, except for Spencer's face.

It looks different. He's not looking at Henry or Michael, or at the toys, or anything. He's staring straight ahead, and the look on his face… I really don't know what it is. Regret? Anger? Grief? It is a strange mix, even stranger on his face now, so out of place and sudden. I stand there shocked, not knowing what to make of it.

It is as if he knows I am watching him- Spencer looks at me and smiles, the look from seconds earlier masked over in an instant. I almost think I imagined it. Spencer has already turned his head, and is animatedly explaining something to Henry. I stand there for another moment, then make my way to the other bedroom, my mind a swirl of thoughts.

* * *

Spencer leaves before lunch. 'Thanks for having me over, Jennifer', he tells me as he gets into his coat, 'I had a great time, as always.'

'Okay, next time, remember that and don't make me ask multiple times.' I reply.

He smiles. Then lingers by the door, looking at me, like he is expecting me to say something else. I can't figure out what it is. But before I can ask, he has said goodbye and walked away.

* * *

Will has emerged from the bedroom. As we have lunch and then relax, it is a slow, good time- the boys showing their creations to their father, Henry's school stories at the table, Will kissing my neck as we do the dishes.

We go for a walk at the park in the afternoon. Michael screaming 'higher!' on the swing, Henry excited to find one of his school buddies there, kids in colorful dresses running everywhere, old couples holding hands, joggers stopping to pet stranger's dogs.

Something is bugging me. It has something to do with Spencer. His face in that instant- that is one mystery, and my mind keeps going back to that, trying to understand what happened there. But there's something else. Something to do with Spencer, and what Henry was talking about at lunch. What was it?

I don't figure it out until that evening, when a package shows up at our door. It is Henry and Michael's Halloween costumes. They will be Dash and Jack-Jack from the Incredibles family, and as they trial the costumes, Henry grinning, Michael jumping up and down, Will taking pictures, I remember with a jolt.

Henry was talking about the costumes at lunch, and how they still hadn't arrived and it's only two days until Halloween.

Two days until Halloween.

Today is 28th October. Spencer's birthday.

I can't believe this. Not only I forgot his birthday, I actually saw him, had him in my house today, and still didn't remember.

Did _anyone_ remember?

His mother doesn't even know his name sometimes, so that is out of the question. Rossi wouldn't remember; Tara, Luke or Matt wouldn't know; Penelope or Emily might have remembered except Emily is out of town right now and if what I know is right, Penelope is struggling emotionally in the aftermath of her abduction. Between that and catching up with her half-estranged brother, I doubt she has been thinking about much else.

Wow.

I want to call Spencer. Say Happy Birthday. Say I'm sorry. But every time I think of picking up the phone, I flash back to him at the door, looking at me expectantly, then glancing down, coming up with a smile and leaving. I shrink with guilt.

I need to get groceries- I know mornings are a better time but I gave into the Sunday morning laziness. Will still has work to finish, he sits down with that. I ride the elevator down to the parking space of the apartment. Get in the car. I'm still thinking of Spencer. I need to go to the Walmart. I know that. But…

Almost before I know it, I'm driving to Capital Plaza Apartments.

Reid's home.

By the time I arrive on his doorstep, I'm second guessing my decision. What if he isn't home? What if he has already gone to bed? That seems unlikely though, it is still too early for that. But what if he thinks this is too much?

He wouldn't, would he?

I wouldn't have worried about this before, but now, with his new reserve...

Well, I am here now.

I ring the doorbell.

The door half-opens. Spencer stands there, wearing a crumpled t-shirt that has a phone booth (no, police box) printed on it, hair more disheveled than ever. He stares at me, mouth opening a little in shock.

'Happy birthday.', I say, holding up the small box in my hand. 'I got you a present, too. Can I come in?'

'Oh… yeah, sure…', he lets me in, closes the door and comes to stand in front of me. 'You…', he seems unable to speak, and there's a pang in my chest. He is so surprised that somebody can do this for him, unexpectedly show up to wish him a happy birthday.

But he doesn't look sad or happy. He looks…embarrassed. And when I follow his glance to his desk, I immediately see why.

In the middle of piles of books, notepads and scattered pens and pencils is sitting a cupcake, with a candle on it. There's even a paper hat.

'Oh, are you expecting someone?', I ask him, and then wish I hadn't, because his face tells me everything.

No one is coming. No one is joining him.

Spencer has done this- this sad little cupcake and a silly conic hat is his birthday party. And he is the only guest.

I can't look at him.

I think back. Over the last years, we have celebrated some of his birthdays at the office. I remember his 24th birthday, him desperately trying to blow-out trick candles. Remember his 30th one- we'd missed that too, Emily found out while in conversation with him. Some fell in the middle of cases when there was no time for a party. Some, well, some I didn't remember until it was months. Were they all like that too? Sitting in his home alone, whispering happy birthday to himself?

'I know it's silly.'

I look at Spencer. He's staring at the floor. 'I just love birthdays, you know? I love all the things that come with it- balloons, cakes, candles... It's just, it's stupid, right, like, did you know birthday celebrations used to be rejected by the Christian community 'cause they thought it to be a pagan ritual? But, I don't know, actually, I guess I do know, the human brain is hardwired to… I'm rambling. Why am I rambling?'

He looks up at me. 'JJ, thanks.'

My heart is twisting. My smile feels wrong. 'You're welcome.'

He looks over at the desk again, then at me. 'I know, okay?', he tries to explain again. 'I didn't even want to do this at first- I was just trying to finish that damn book, then for some reason I felt compelled to go out and get these things and I was just going to sit there and wear that stupid hat, I mean, who even does something so pointless like that? Irrationality manifesting with its full chaotic…'

I look at him as he talks- eyes glinting, skin taut over face, fists balling. He is not just embarrassed, I realize. He is getting angry.

With himself.

I reach out and touch his hand. 'Spence.'

He stops talking. I hold his eyes. Take his hand into both of mine.

'You absolutely do not have to explain yourself. Happy birthday.' I squeeze his hand. 'And I am so sorry that I didn't remember earlier. I really am.'

He looks at me for a moment. Two, three, four.

Then his shoulders relax. His mouth curves into a little smile.

'Thank you, Jennifer. And it's very much okay.'

'It isn't', I say, and pull his arms around me, locking us into a hug.

He buries his face in my shoulder, his arms tight around my waist. I tighten mine around his neck. My fingers touch the hair on the back of his head, soft and feathery.

I stand there, holding him, feeling his heartbeat.

He pulls back after a few moments.

Maybe longer than a few moments.

I walk toward his desk and get the hat and the cupcake. The candle is burned down to half its size. I offer the hat to him and he wears it, grinning.

'Make a wish, doctor!' I say, and it looks like he actually makes one as he closes his eyes and blows out the candle. But when I ask what he wished for, he protests. 'They don't come true if you tell!'

The cupcake is tiny, really. Instead of trying to have him cut it, I just offer it to him. 'Take a bite! Okay, here goes- Happy birthday to you...'

But don't get farther than the first line of the song, because he has bit into the cake and now chocolate is flowing out of its center.

'Spencer!' I hold the dripping cake as far as possible from my body. 'It's a lava cake! You didn't tell me!'

'I didn't know!' he looks at me wide eyed, his chin and lips covered in chocolate. I have to laugh.

'Okay.', I say. 'Get some paper towel, go!'

He runs to his kitchen.

By the time I have put the cake on the piece of paper towel, set it down on his desk and wiped my hand, there's a mess on the floor. Spencer frowns at it, cocking his head. 'You know, that actually looks like the map of…'

'Spence', I stop him. 'You've got chocolate all over your face. You want to wipe that off first, maybe?'

'That is a waste of perfectly good chocolate!'

I roll my eyes. 'Then what do you want to do?'

'Nothing.' He gets some paper towel and starts wiping his mouth. 'I'm just stating a fact.'

I glance at the small clock on his desk. I should really be going home now.

'I have to run.' I tell Spencer. 'Sorry I… Spence, you've got chocolate on your throat.'

'What? Where?' he touches his throat, way off from where the smudge is.

'Let me', I take the towel from him. 'Chin up! How did it even dribble down so fast?'

There are three chocolate smudges, two under his chin and one on his throat. I lay my left hand on the side of his face to steady him, and rub the spots off with the other. He makes a small noise, complaining that the paper towel is rough on his skin.

My fingers touch the skin of his throat- soft, smooth. My left thumb is on the corner of his lips.

I'm standing very close to him. My face is inches from his throat.

He smells like… I don't know what it is, except that it's his smell. I catch faint traces of it whenever I hug him. At his home, without any cologne, it is stronger. I can't come up with a description, except there is something unmistakably male about it.

I can hear his every breath. My chest is almost touching his.

I don't know when my hand went still. Now I'm just standing there. In his space. Breathing him in.

A moment? A fraction of a moment?

He looks down at me. 'Jennifer?'

I back away.

'Yeah. All cleaned up.'

I put down the soiled piece of paper towel and walk towards the door. 'I really have to go now. Happy birthday again, Spence. And I hope you like the tie!'

'What tie?'

I am out the door. 'Your present! I picked it up while coming here. I put it on your desk. '

'Oh, right. Thanks, JJ! And…' I look back to see him standing at the door, one hand on the door frame, 'Thanks for coming. For everything.'

* * *

Driving home, my mind is full of tangled threads of thoughts, and it is then I realize something I didn't earlier.

'Trying to finish that damn book…', Spencer said.

Spencer, who reads the entire War and Peace during breakfast, is having difficulty finishing a book.

Something is not right.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

 **\- You guys are awesome. Thanks for follows and favs!**

 **\- If you're liking this so far, or if you just want to read about Reid kissing a girl, I wrote a oneshot called 'Something Glorious This Way Comes' a few days ago. You might like it. Check it out?**

 **\- If you've already read SGTWC, and would like me to expand that story, well, I actually might. I got a bunch of reviews saying they want to know what happens next (half of which only shows up in my email, what is it with this site glitching with guest reviews?) and I might write more. To be honest, I want to. But I think I'll wait for some more feedback. Anyway, this one is my first priority.**

 **\- A question. Where is Reid's mom now? Did they mention this on the show? Is she in Las Vegas, Maryland or in Reid's apartment? I can't remember, I can't find this information and it is problematic. If any one of you know, please leave a review or message.**

 **\- Next chapter already in the works, will hopefully be up within next 2/3 days.**

* * *

Endless green fields. A bright blue sky with piled-up fluffy white clouds. The sun hot, almost blinding.

And that's it. No wind. No sound. Nobody. No nothing, as far as my eyes go. Unmoving. Empty. Soundless. Eerie. It's like I'm standing in a screensaver, a beautiful frozen picture.

I am here for a reason. I am supposed to do something. What is it?

I start to walk. As soon as I do, it all changes. With every step I take, grass disappears. Trees, tall and thin, grow out of the ground. Soon, I am in a forest. The sky is gone. In the deep gray non-light, all I can see is… what is that?

 _Who_ is that?

In a blink she's in front of me, and I feel an ocean of sadness, all at once and so sudden, it makes me want to break into a million pieces. My sister, beautiful, alive.

She frowns at me.

'What are you doing here, JJ? In the woods, alone? And why aren't you wearing my necklace?'

The mention of the necklace makes me angry, but I can't remember why. Roslyn doesn't wait for my answer. She turns around and starts running.

'Wait!', my scream is desperate. I run behind her, wanting to follow. But she's gone. Panic rises in me. Where did she go? I stop and look around.

A shadow. Thin and black and as tall as the sky. About a hundred yards away. Standing motionless, just like the trees. But it is not a tree. I know it. I feel a pull from the figure. Take a step towards it like a magnet drawn to iron.

'Jennifer.' Suddenly, Spencer is beside me, as if he has been there all along. He grabs my arm. 'Don't go there.'

I look at him. In the dark, I can't make out the details of his face. I see the outline of his hair, the curve of his mouth. His eyes are shallow pools of darkness.

'I have to go', I say. 'Why are you stopping me? Help me!'

'Listen to me', he says, urgency in his voice, 'You have to get out of here. Fast. You can't let it…', he suddenly looks at the tall shadow. I follow his gaze.

The shadow is still exactly where it was, but something else… a hand. It is reaching out with a stick-thin, deep black hand, with five skeletal, impossibly long fingers at its end. It comes at our direction through the air as if in slow motion, and everything in and around its path darkens like someone is dimming the non-light.

'Do you see him?' Spencer says. His voice sounds off. 'Do you see Will?'

Before I can say yes or no, he gives me a hard push. I fall, but instead of hitting the ground, I keep falling. And I do see Will now. He's right here. My hand is in his. I look at him, floating beside me. Are we falling, or motionless? Is there a difference?

Will smiles at me and squeezes my hand. 'The boys want their mommy, darlin'. And their daddy does, too. Time to go home.'

I feel my body relax. The sense of dread is gone. 'Lead the way.' I say.

Then, a surge of renewed, doubly forceful panic jolts me as I hear a laughter, a mad high-pitched giggle. Everything goes black. High above me, like I'm looking up from the bottom of a well, I see a hazy circle of that gray non-light, and there I see two faces. One is Roslyn, her eyes open but stare dead, her face bloated and pale, her hair fanning out in all directions, like it was in that bathtub when I found her. The other is Spencer, but only half his face is his. The other half is disfigured, stretched long, devoured by an ugly darkness that I know came from that shadow.

I want to scream. No sound comes out. 'JJ!' Will says from beside me. 'JJ! Wake up! _Wake up!_ '

And I do.

I am covered in sweat. I can't breathe. I can't stop shaking. Will is saying something, something about if I want water, but I blindly reach out until I'm holding him and he's holding me just as tight, and I start counting in my head.

One. A quick breath. Two. Another breath. Three. Breath. Slightly better. Four. Breath. Slowing down now. Five. Breath. Normal length. Good. Six. Breath. Deep and long this time. Great. Seven…

With Will's arms securing me against him, enveloped in his familiar smell, I calm myself down slowly. I can hear him murmuring, kissing the top of my head, running his hand on my back.

Finally, I pull back, sit up on the bed. Will keeps his hands on my shoulder, concern etched on his handsome face. 'Okay?', he asks me. I nod.

He gets me a glass of water. I drink it. Go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face.

I am wide awake now, but I checked the time and it is in the middle of the night so I have to at least try to sleep.

Back in the bedroom. Back in bed. Back in Will's arms.

'Sorry about that', I tell him.

'Shhh', he finds my lips in the dark and presses a finger down on it softly. 'Don't be silly. Do you want to talk about it?'

'No', I say immediately.

'Okay', his voice is fading. 'I love you.'

'I love you too', I say. There's no answer, only rhythmic breathing.

There are a hundred scattered thoughts in my head, and I'm too exhausted to try to control or stop them, so I just lie in the dark and let them run. The case at my hometown… Algheny again… the abducted girls… the locket…my sister… Ethan… as exhausted as I am, I have to pull back from there. If I want to stay calm, normal, functioning, I _cannot_ think about Ethan and Roslyn.

The dream. It is true that now, awake, it doesn't seem scary to me the same way, but the memory of that dark forest, that slender silhouette is still disturbing. And then there was my sister, alive and then dead, and Spencer, half of him ruined. Them staying behind while I watched from afar. My subconscious is trying to tell me something, I know. But now is not the time to analyze things, and I fall into a fitful sleep, with dim gray images of warped reality in my head and insane giggles still echoing in my ears.

* * *

I wake early, not feeling very rested. An extra layer of makeup to cover the dark circles, breakfast with Will and the boys and then I'm at the headquarter, early as well.

But Spencer is already here. He is leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, feet up on the desk, large coffee in his hand. He hears me come in, and says, 'Good morning, JJ.' without opening his eyes.

'How did you know it was me?' I put down my purse at my desk and come to lean against his.

'Why wouldn't I?' He sits up and looks at me. I am opening my mouth to say 'That's not much of an answer', but before I can, he tells me 'Did you have nightmares last night?'

My mouth falls slack for a second before I close it. 'I...', it feels like admitting a strangely dirty secret. 'I might have.' I really don't feel like asking 'How did you know' for the second time in a minute, but he explains anyway.

'Your movements are slower, your pupils are tending to pinpoints rather than normal- both symptoms of exhaustion or lack of sleep. Considering the case we finished yesterday, I made an educated guess.'

I nod. 'Good guess.'

He takes a sip of his coffee, then puts it down on his desk. 'Tell me something', he studies my face, as if unsure whether to ask his question. Then he does. 'Were you avoiding me yesterday? It sort of felt like that. I wanted to talk to you a few times, but...'

He trails off, offering me the tail of the sentence to pick up and answer.

I exhale slowly. I _was_ avoiding him yesterday.

Yesterday was one of the worst days. Flashbacks of my sister, finding out about the necklace, going back digging through the memories, trying to remember, who the culprit actually turned out to be … it has put me through hell. I was not at my best, I was struggling.

And while I chose to tell Emily how I had frozen up when I saw Roslyn's body and while I asked for Rossi's help in navigating my memories, Spencer I had to hide from.

It has to do with the dynamic of our friendship. He has always been the one who asks for help. I have always been the one to provide it. Him hurt, tortured, me solid and comforting. Always. There was only one time the roles had been reversed- when I told him about my lost child. That one time.

I didn't want to- couldn't- show myself to him when I, his tower of strength, was fracturing. He knows me better than anyone, except maybe Will, maybe not even that. His IQ is 187. There was no way I could hide my struggle from him, and there was no way I wanted him to see that side of me. So I found myself staying away from him. I was hoping he wouldn't notice, but of course he did.

But how do I tell Spencer this? How do I explain any of it? And something occurs to me now that I haven't thought of before- is this why I have been so bothered by his attitude lately? Because I am the helper, and he hasn't been asking for help?

This is way too much way too early in the morning, and I wish I stayed at my desk instead of coming up here to talk.

'I was just occupied, Spence', I lie. 'I wasn't avoiding you.'

I don't know if he believes me or not. He tugs at his maroon tie as he says, 'Mostly I just wanted to ask if you are okay.' He looks me in the eye. 'Are you okay?' And it must have been his mention of it a couple of minutes ago that makes me notice it- his pupils. In his hazel eyes, the pupils are like pinpricks.

We all are used to seeing him with bags under his eyes, but for the first time now I notice the sag of his shoulder, the tilt of his head, the tiredness in the lines of his face.

'I'm okay.' I tell him. 'Spence, haven't you been sleeping?'

He seems wary. 'Me?'

'You look tired', I say, watching him closely.

He smiles brightly. 'I love your new necklace.' He squints his eyes to examine it better. 'Will's present, right?'

I do realize that he has just changed the subject, but I am too startled to address that. Okay, this is getting _really_ annoying. It could be any random necklace from my jewelry box, how does he know it's a present from my family?

Then something occurs to me.

I only called and told Will about the case, my sister's killer and the pendant- a very short version- when we landed in DC. I was home within forty minutes after that. Picking up the necklace, putting pictures in it- there wouldn't have been time, unless…

I stare at Spencer. 'Did you talk to Will?'

He leans back again and looks at the ceiling. 'I might have.'

He called Will and told him about the disgusting necklace, years of me wearing it around my neck in the memory of my sister only to find out that it was a present from the man responsible for her death. Spence told Will all that, possibly with explanations of psychological effects of this discovery and the need to heal the wound it would leave. He may not have told Will to go get a new necklace, but his call caused him to do it. Will and I didn't really talk last night after I got home and this morning he was in a rush, so he hasn't mentioned this to me yet.

I don't know how I feel about this and what to say, except maybe thank Spencer. I don't know.

Before I can say anything, Simmons and Alvez have walked in, coming up together in the elevator. Good mornings are said. They settle in. Spencer drinks his coffee. I stand up straight to leave, then say, 'If we are off early today, let's have dinner together.'

He raises his eyebrows. 'Should I be worried?'

I reply, 'You should ask yourself why a dinner invitation from your best friend makes you feel like you should worry.' I don't look back as I leave for my desk.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

 **\- I'm back! (With a longass chapter that was exceptionally hard to write)**

 **\- Apparently my story has ads in it? I didn't know, and can't see them from my devices. No clue what's up with this whole thing.**

 **\- Not sure when next chapter's coming. Not gonna be too long 'casue once I start writing something, I have to live with the characters constantly going 'Tell my story! Tell my story!' in my mind. It drives me crazy enough to sit typing at 2:30 in the morning with office the next day.**

* * *

Do you think this lipstick is a little too loud on me?' Emily says absentmindedly, frowning at her reflection in the mirror of the women's bathroom.

'I think it's all right', I say, washing my hands. 'This isn't the one you were wearing all day, though, is it?'

'No…'

I wipe my hands and turn to face Emily. Her makeup has been touched up, hair rebrushed, and she is trying to smooth down a small crease on her shirt. Which all points to…

'Emily Prentiss', I say, a slow grin working its way across my mouth, 'Are you going on a date?'

'What?' she looks at me, 'No, no. I'm just going to the hospital.'

'The hospital?'

'Yes', Emily faces me. 'I am going to the hospital to pay a visit to agent Mendoza, to see how he is doing. You know, a social call.'

Agent Mendeza is the one we worked with for our second-last case. He got stabbed by the UnSub, trading place with a civilian almost-victim (long story).

'Oh?' I raise my eyebrows. 'Social call, huh? So, it has nothing to do with, say, him being a pretty good looking guy, or a pretty fine agent, or I don't know, some possible chemistry between you two…'

'Okay, okay!' Now Emily is grinning too. 'There may or may not have been talk of a date in future.' She picks up her purse. 'But for now it's really just a social call.' She notices me reapplying my lipstick and asks, 'You're not going home?'

I give myself a final once-over as I cap the lipstick. 'Spence and I are gonna have dinner together.'

Emily was already half a step toward the door, but she stops. 'Just you and Reid?', she asks, 'Any special reason?'

She has asked casually enough, but I know there is real concern underneath. I get why she asked, too. Spencer and I do hang out, but that is usually over weekends. Going somewhere to eat or drink after work generally involves the whole group, at least a part of it. It's not hard to see why that, combined with Spencer's… history, would make Emily think there might be some serious issue that has to be tackled or discussed between us.

The fact is, she's right.

Something is going on with Spencer. I am tired of wondering about it. And I'm frustrated- not because he doesn't want help, that would be okay and I would respect his choice- but because whenever it comes to this he keeps dodging, hiding and detaching. And this isn't something I can ask him about in an early morning chat, or confront him about cornering him in a hallway in the middle of a case. That's why I offered to go out for dinner. I want to sit down, talk to him and lay it all out on the table one way or another. We were supposed to go last night. But your plans can really go out the window when people start getting stabbed every 27 minutes; the day tends to dissolve into madness, chaos and a breathless chase against time. We managed to catch and stop the actual UnSub by the afternoon- thank God- but with city-wide exposure, media frenzy and an innocent man getting shot in the middle of it all, it took a really long time to wrap everything up.

I don't tell Emily any of this, though. I can't, not yet.

'Just catching up.', I answer. 'Plus, you know, he's not gonna be here for the next few weeks, so…'

Spencer was reinstated under the condition that for every 100 days at the BAU, he take 30 days off. I didn't even realize his latest 100 days period was over before I walked in this morning and saw him sorting through a huge pile of books- he's going to be teaching a symposium in his month off. He told me that, explaining about the topic he'll lecture on (something about medieval era criminology? I can't remember), but all I could think was- he won't be here for a whole month, again, and I'm going to miss him, again. It's embarrassing to admit it to myself now, but when he started talking about old-timey weapons, all happy and eager- and I get it, of _course_ he should be happy, that is exactly what I am trying to assure- but the fact that he seemed so clearly unbothered to be absent from here, or the fact that we talked several times yesterday and he didn't mention that today was going to be his last day until next month… I know how it sounds- it sounds stupid that it annoyed me, but it did. By that time Simmons was there, so I left saying I needed to get coffee. I actually tried to warn Simmons off too. As much as Spence's fact spouting makes me want to shove cotton balls in my ears sometimes, I know he's passionate about his things and I'd rather Matt didn't listen than listen and react less than kindly.

'Sorry, he's waiting, I gotta go now.' I say to Emily, walking to the door. I throw a sly smile to her over my shoulder as I leave. 'Good luck with your pre-date.'

'JJ! It's _not_ a…' Emily's voice fades as I walk away.

Spencer is standing in the emptying bullpen, hands deep in pockets. 'Let's go?', I tell him.

'Yeah.' He falls into step beside me.

We take the elevator to the ground floor, walk out into the night- we're going to a bar nearby where you can get both good food and good wine. We talk- about where we're going, about the sad case that we had today, and the sad case we had yesterday, and technically, JJ, data supports the hypothesis that the system is flawed and did you hear, Spence, the place we did karaoke that one time shut down?

Silence is folded between pieces of our conversation, and it feels alive, this silence. Spencer is not stupid, he knows I want to talk to him about something. He very possibly knows what that something is, too. He and I- we're used to being easy around each other, our guard down, our rhythm smooth. But right now it's different- he's watching out, I'm careful, we're both getting ready for things to play out but we can't predict the pattern of them yet. It seeps into the quiet moments- the tension, the low-running current of anticipation.

We've reached the bar. It's more or less a casual place. A low hum of conversation, sudden bursts of laughter from one or another large group, music beats thrumming and booming in a different pulse every few minutes, the light neither too dim nor too bright. The place has some herb-chicken dish that it's popular for, and that's what we order. Cocktail for me, water for Spencer- he doesn't drink alcohol. Long ago I had asked him why and he'd replied that willingly choosing to loosen control on one's brain, one's own actions and decisions, seemed terrifying to him. I remember laughing about it then, but I think I now understand what he meant.

We're still talking- my family, his mom, our friends. It's easy. It's also just testing waters.

I make the first move. Slow. Casual. 'Did you finish that book, by the way?'

'What book?' Spencer pops a roasted peanut in his mouth.

'The one you were reading on your birthday?'

'Yes, I finished it. Why?' he picks up another nut.

'No reason. Was just wondering.' I sip my drink. 'One hell of a book if you found it difficult to read.'

'Or it could be just a bad book with appalling writing and content that is difficult to plow through without getting really frustrated and taking breaks to calm down.'

'Was it?'

'No.'

I wait. Spencer doesn't offer any other explanation. He pokes through the assortment of nuts, his eyes on the small bowl. Locks of unruly hair hang on his forehead. I breathe out slowly. He hasn't changed the subject. That's a good sign.

'What else have you been doing lately, anyway?' A little probing. Still casual. Easy. 'Another month off from tomorrow. Anything planned besides the symposium?'

'I have some papers planned that I want to write.' He rubs his eyes. The gesture is small and inconspicuous enough, but there's something wrong with it. 'I've selected the journals I hope to publish them in, still undecided on picking topics for a couple of them.'

'Oh. Penelope said there's this big sci-fi convocation coming up in Maryland; I thought you would be going.'

He smiles. A tired smile. 'I'm probably gonna skip this one.'

There's a pause in our conversation as the waitress arrives with food. A minute to dig in, then I pick up the thread again. 'Why aren't you going?'

He shrugs, chewing his chicken.

'Late night knitting and stitching for costumes isn't what's keeping you awake, then.' Venturing deeper, still careful.

Spencer looks up at me. 'What do you mean?'

'You know', my tone is light, 'You're not the only one who notices pinpoint-pupils and signs of exhaustion in a friend.'

He keeps his eyes on me. Doesn't say anything. His eyes look a darker green in the soft light.

Time to go all in.

'Spence, is something going on?'

'Nothing's going on. Everything's great.' He concentrates on his food again.

Shot down, just like that.

And suddenly, I hate it. I hate that I'm doing this, that I'm feeling like I have to do this- coaxing, strategizing, hitting dead ends, trying to find another way, another tactic. We in our team are profilers, doing literal psychoanalysis for a living. You'd think it's enough to have to do that for twisted-minded UnSubs and suspects, but here I sit, trying to play mind games with my best friend.

'What would you do?' I say.

He looks up again. 'What?'

'You have a best friend. You love him. He is one of the people who mean the most to you in the entire world. Time after time, you come close to losing him. Every time he is gone, you grit your teeth and try with your everything to bring him back and somehow miracle happens and it works out and he is saved, but every time you can't help wondering why, wondering if you could have stopped it from happening somehow. And even the slightest possibility that you could have done something but didn't, you could've noticed something but failed to, haunts you forever. So every time you get a little more protective, try a little harder.' I didn't plan on being quite this honest. But I can't stop now. Spencer listens, silent. 'The last time you got a bad feeling and decided not to worry about it, he ended up two seconds away from his throat cut. The time before that, he went to jail for a murder he didn't commit. So now you watch out, now you wanna make absolutely, hundred percent sure that he's fine and not gonna disappear again one day, not gonna be taken away when you weren't watching. But he is closing the door.' I look Spence in the eye, letting him see into me as I pour everything out. 'He's keeping you out of his wall, he's turning away, he's changing. After all the times you've brought him back, you're now losing him in the here and now.' I draw in a slightly shaky breath. 'What you do if it were me in your place and you in mine, Spencer? What would you do?'

Someone laughs loudly. The music changes to something with deep, rumbling short beats. Spencer and I sit facing each other, now both quiet, as if on a different plane than the rest of the place. My voice has stopped, the words have disappeared, still the air between us holds them somehow.

'Jennifer…', Spencer says, looking me in the eye, 'Everything that has happened with me, every bad thing, none of them were things that could be prevented beforehand by anyone else. Either I made my choices and faced the consequences, or psychopaths were being psychopaths and I got in their way, which is my job. You, all of you, have done more for me than I could ever have imagined and I assure you that there is absolutely no reason for you to feel guilty in any way. I cannot put in words how grateful I am to you.'

'Thanks, but you're missing the point, Spence.' I am tired suddenly. 'It's great that you feel that way, but that doesn't change the fact that I still feel responsible for your well-being, at least part of it. I always will. So please', I reach out and touch his hand, 'would you just stop shutting me out?'

A second. Two. Then Spencer sighs. Says something, looking down. So quietly, I don't hear it.

'What's that?' I ask.

'It has been coming back to me.'

'What has been?'

'My time in prison.'

'What do you mean, 'coming back'? Did you not remember?'

'I did, just… differently.' He's fidgeting with the fork. 'Half the time I remembered like it happened to someone else, or like something I saw in a dream, the other half I was right there, reliving it. I diagnosed myself with PTSS afterwards- Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I'd get tunnel vision every time I got stressed and momentarily forget about my surroundings- on those times there would be a rush of those memories- flashbacks- then short temper afterwards, frustration- the classics. That was textbook. It got better over time. Or, I don't know, maybe worse, because now I'm in this place where I can associate with that time, integrating it to my past, and that is what's affecting me.'

'Affecting you how?'

'When I could actually analyze that time as my own experience', his eyes are on my face now 'I realized several things. I tried to protect someone in there, I couldn't. I tried to survive on my own, I couldn't. I poisoned people. I couldn't even protect myself fully- I had to get myself stabbed on purpose and I'd probably still be dead if it took one or two days more for you to get me out of there.'

I stare at him. 'You're having an existential crisis because you weren't the alpha in a prison?'

'I don't know what I'm having, Jennifer. I just know for such a genius-minded man', sarcastic tint on his voice, 'I wasn't very good at actual-life situation reading, adapting, or improvising. I never really have been.'

'Surprise.' I say dryly, 'Dr. Spencer Reid isn't perfect.'

He huffs softly before saying, 'Point is, I can't stop thinking about it. Not just it, to be honest, a lot of things of the past in general. It's made me see some things differently.'

'Such as?'

Spencer hesitates. 'JJ, is this really necessary? I'm fine, you know.'

'Yes, this is necessary.' I immediately reply, 'Tell me.'

'Well', he says, 'What I've realized is it's best to just… focus.'

'On what?'

'On what's actually important. You know, our job. Catch killers, save lives. Except I don't even have permission to always do that now', a hint of something in his voice- anger? Frustration? Hate? 'but still. Teach people, when I get the chance. Produce and disseminate knowledge. The rest is unnecessary.'

'The rest being?'

'You know, the feelings. The things we tell ourselves to feel better. The we-must-seek-out-joy-to-cancel-out-the-pain. The there's-good-in-everything-and-I-will-find-it. The life-is-beautiful-and-humanity-is-eternal. All impossible standards put in place. Hah. A sci-fi convocation. Grownup people dressing up like children. What a joke. Reading fiction- what is the point of fiction? Made up people doing made up things, nonsense. I do still believe they have their place and serve a certain recreational purpose but I don't need to waste time on that. Or anything really, not any more. I am almost forty. My family life is', he laughs a bitter laugh, 'non-existent. Love life, I've never had one. My friends are amazing but productivity isn't really affected by friendship, at least it shouldn't be. Please don't think I'm undermining any of the things that any of you has done for me, JJ, I'm not. I'm just saying I should've been able to cope and flourish regardless. I'll learn that. I'll do better, do important things. Everything else is secondary.'

I don't know what to say. I'm not sure I even understand him. 'So… what are you saying, exactly? That you hate everything now?'

'No, it's not like that. To be honest, I don't think I feel anything, really. About things.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

He looks caught off guard, like he didn't mean to tell me this and it slipped out somehow.

'Oh, it's…', he shifts a little in his seat.

'It's what?'

'Like I said, I've been looking at my past experiences from a really analytical point of view, going over them-'

'Why?', I ask.

He stumbles. 'Just to… I don't know. Things started coming back, sort of, I could think about them clearly without reliving them, and I did. And it just continued from there. It fascinates me, you know, how much I could've done differently at different times and didn't… I zone out sometimes, going over my actions analyzing the turning points, thinking about the possibilities…'

He's earnestly, genuinely explaining to me that he spends dedicated hours taking apart his past mistakes. Without a hint of irony, without a hint of awareness that this is extremely wrong.

'Anyway', he continues, 'I think my mind has disassociated enough that in general it is less receptive and reflective of emotions.'

'And that's okay?' It's a little hard to find my voice.

'Quite efficient, actually. Humans need a set of separately defined emotions to tell them how to react to particular situations- like when you feel fear it's your brain's signal to you that you should take steps to secure yourself. But if you can take these decisions proactively and intelligently regardless of the emotions telling you to do so, they can become redundant.'

I don't really know what I expected to find out when I sat down with Spencer here, but I think whatever I could have imagined would not compare to this.

'S-so', I feel bewildered enough that I stutter a little, 'No love? No happiness? No affection? For anyone?' That's pretty much the basic make of a psychopath, for crying out loud- the lack of emotion and empathy! I know better than to say it out loud, but I am aghast that this is somehow escaping him.

Spencer, for the first time, looks uncomfortable with my question. 'Jennifer, I understand that this might not be easy for you to process. I'm sorry if I am causing you any kind of hurt, I'm so sorry. But I can't help being me, and right now, this is me.'

'No, it isn't!' I keep my voice low; it still sounds like a scream. 'You are literally dehumanizing yourself and defending it! You are not a robot! You're…' How do I explain all the things that is Spencer? 'You're a beautiful, kind soul that is human, not… not this!' I struggle to get the words out, trying to explain something that never should've needed explaining. 'You're a genius for goodness' sake, how can you not see that?'

Something hardens in his eyes. 'Being a genius, JJ,' that sarcasm in his voice again, thick and heavy, 'is great until you realize how useless that can actually be sometimes and how helpless it can make you feel- when you believed you could find a solution to every problem but really you were just plain, flat wrong. And it's taken me too long to see it, but I do now.' He takes a deep breath. 'Please don't get me wrong.' His voice is softer. 'I care about you. I do. I couldn't stop if I wanted to. I just care differently now. It's actually possible to be psychologically aware enough to keep complying with the duties and action towards certain people as would be induced by empathy and affection for them.'

'What you're saying is', I feel numb, 'that you're gonna fake it.'

For a second he looks unsure. Then his voice is solid, hard. 'No. What I'm saying is when I look at you, I know that I care about you and I will do everything in my power and more if you ever need me to do something, from being there for you to kill some bastard. I don't need waves of emotion to tell me that, I just know. You matter to me, that's a fact, without needing to be being clouded by any sort of external feelings.'

I don't know what to say anymore. I don't know. People are still talking, laughing all around us, the music thrums- the sounds suddenly feeling alien in my ears. Spencer is poking at his food with his fork. I realize I haven't even touched mine.

'I've been doing a lot of work, you know.' Spencer says quietly. 'Caught up on all the recent studies in modern astrophysics, biology and cultural anthropology, planning a lot of research of my own and… some other things. I'm going to be productive. Focused. It's good, JJ. I'm good. Trust me.'

I don't.

Spencer has sifted through his worst, most poisonous memories for days, suffered from a twisted epiphany, has decided to course-correct his life into work-mania and just discard human feelings along the way- the whole thing is so bizarre and messed up I feel like I'm having vertigo thinking about it.

And it's taken me this long to even find out.

Suddenly I remember something. 'That day', I say, 'I called you, you said you love me. You asked if I know that you love me. Why? That's supposed to be unnecessary, right? Love, talking about it like that?'

A flicker of something in his eyes. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Takes half a second to lick his lower lip.

I watch. I wait.

'Sometimes I'm not as efficient.' He is choosing his words carefully. 'I'd just woken up, psychological resistance is very low at times like that. I… sometimes feel like I used to. But that's gonna…' for the first time tonight, he doesn't look a hundred per cent sure of what he's saying. 'get better.', he finishes.

Worse. Gonna get worse.

But I see now.

Underneath the mess, underneath the affected, altered, darkened mindscape is Spencer, the real Spencer, and that was who told me that he loved me that day. He knew that detachment, disassociation would cloud in before long, he knew it was only a few moments before feelings got erased by cold, dead nothing and that nothing would feel like the best armor in the world, and in those few moments he wanted me to know that he's still there and still loves me.

I see him.

I see a trapped soul desperately in need to be saved.


	6. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Okay, let's talk.

See, this story. I had it all planned out. Sorta. I was going to post the next chapter within a week, maximum. But then what happened was I got engaged, and married.

Yep. It was a little sudden, and a little hectic, and the best thing in the world, but fact of the matter is writing fanfic took a backseat with all that stuff going down.

After things settled, I saw that there were only 2 weeks left until the show finale. So I thought, 'Okay, I'll start writing after the finale so I have a full picture of where exactly the characters are, it'll help me develop the story accordingly.' And then the finale happened, and I was pretty much like :O :O :O for the next three days.

Now, I know this is a JJ-Reid shipping story, so I should be really happy with how things unfolded, right? BELIEVE ME, I'm happy, my Jeid heart is still doing tango. But for ' **The Edge'** , that brings up a couple of problems. a) I was going to develop JJ's feelings (or at least her realization that she loves Spencer, if I'm reaching) slowly, and that's how I wrote the earlier chapters. 'I've ALWAYS loved you' doesn't really tally with that, and b) I… am gonna tell you a secret. Before I began this story, in my very first A/N, I said character authenticity was very important to me. As in, I would never have any character doing anything that was implausible or doesn't seem real in the context of how they've always been portrayed. Keeping that in mind, I never thought JJ would ever actually leave her family or Reid would be okay with her doing that. So this is the secret: I was gonna give this story a sad ending. Now, I feel like I've just _written_ this sad ending, in my other story ' **Road Not Taken** ' (which, after the finale, I _had to_ write).

So, dear readers, I now have four options.

a) Keep writing the same story and give it the same ending I'd originally thought (though I don't see the point of that)  
b) Write the story differently, with a happy ending in my mind. But there are issues with this. I have to keep the characters sympathetic and none of you would like Reid/JJ if they broke up a perfectly good marriage. I can kill Will/give him some flaw to validate JJ's decision to leave him, but it seems like a really cheap trick.  
c) Abandon this story, and go forward with ' **Something Glorious This Way Comes'** , another story I'd written. It was Reid+OC and was originally a oneshot but I can expand it into a full-fledged multi-chapterer, with a fresh start and higher chance of happy ending for Reid.  
d) Wait it out till the next season of CM finale. I've heard that a new girl has joined the cast and can be a potential love interest for Reid. I can write about them if that happens.

Readers, you've given me and this story a lot of love. Now you know how things stand, and I'd really like to hear your opinions. Please tell me in reviews/PMs what you want to read/how you want things to be. I'll wait.

3


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